The Art Of Domination 3: Catchlight (A Domination And Submission Romance Serial)

By Erika Masten

From Bestselling Erotic Romance and Erotica Author Erika Masten
The Third Title In A New Eight-Part Erotic Domination And Submission Romance Serial

The Art Of Domination 3: Catchlight
A Domination and Submission Romance

Since the day Iva Moreau walked into photographer Nolan Beal’s studio and demanded he stop using her baby sister as his erotic model, only to end up being compelled to pose for him herself in exchange for her sister’s model release, a storm has been building inside the former wild girl artist. Her head wants her to take the safe and responsible path of suburban life and a conventional academic or commercial career, as a teacher or a graphic designer. Her heart, however, has thrown its lot in with the seductive bad boy—and sexual Dominant—and with the passionate creative life he embodies in all the most sensual and dangerous ways. As Iva indulges her hunger for the directing hand of her alpha Svengali, telling herself she can flee back to safety once her appetite has been sated, the pressure builds inside her and the façade she wears to protect herself from judgment—and from love—begins to crack.

The touted opening of Beal’s nouveau noir erotic art exhibition nears, and what began for Nolan as fascination with his defiant model and submissive has become a possessive urge to strip Iva of her protections and pretenses and lay her bare in a way no other man has ever known her. He hadn’t expected that the process to churn old memories, from growing up unwanted on the streets to the rise of his high-profile career from the rubble of his mentor’s. The more he pries Iva open, the more vulnerable and alluring she becomes, and the stronger the temptation to let her see the Nolan no one knows.

As two artistic, passionate, and wounded souls come together in a dance of sexual and emotional domination and submission, Iva and Nolan will have to decide which is the greater pain, that of lying even to themselves about who they are or the risk letting someone close enough to see behind the masks and the photographic effects.

Novella Length: 22,300 words or roughly 75 traditional print pages.

This is a domination and submission romance containing strong sexual content intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.

Bonus Material: Includes excerpt from domination erotica short Valentine’s Dom by Erika Masten and blurb from BBW domination romance Going Too Far (The Curvy Submissive) by Jordan Bell.

The Art Of Domination Series
The Art of Domination: Model Release
The Art of Domination 2: Photo Slave
The Art of Domination 3: Catchlight
The Art of Domination 4: Dominant Object
The Art of Domination 5: Soft Focus
The Art of Domination 6: Double-Exposure
The Art of Domination 7: Safelight
The Art of Domination 8: Flare

• Language: English
• Publisher: Erika Masten
• Release date: Mar 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311685605

Erika Masten

I'm the girl next door with an unexpected wicked streak (and an addiction to sexy high heels). I love turning forbidden desires and secret fantasies into erotic tales with literary flare and a dirty mouth. Let me tell you a naughty story...

Book preview

THE ART OF DOMINATION 3: CATCHLIGHT

(A DOMINATION AND SUBMISSION ROMANCE SERIAL)

by

Erika Masten

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2014 Erika Masten

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Erika Masten

Contact: [e-mail]

Website: http://erikamasten.com

Blog: http://erikamasten.blogspot.com

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Published by Sticky Sweet Books. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored on, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

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This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons or events are purely coincidental.

Warning: Explicit content. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted herein are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.

This is a work of erotic fantasy. In real life, please protect yourself and your lover by always practicing safe sex.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Art Of Domination 3: Catchlight

Excerpt From Erika Masten’s

Valentine’s Dom

Excerpt From Jordan Bell’s

Going Too Far (The Curvy Submissive)

THE ART OF DOMINATION 3: CATCHLIGHT

IVA

Nothing in movies or novels or popular culture prepared me for what it was actually like submitting to bondage, sexual role-play, erotic domination. For being a sex slave. And sure as hell not when the Dom at issue was an unrepentant seducer and corruptor with a voice warm as spiced rum, a dirty mouth, and the body of Michelangelo’s David.

I’d have thought, before I found myself in this position of playing model and sexual submissive to bad boy photographer Nolan Beal, that the most unnerving part of being sexually dominated would have been the terrible self-consciousness of the rather particular, frequently revealing, sensually ritualized foreplay. Like the disturbingly blatant command to take my clothes off or even just lift my skirt to expose myself while he remained completely dressed. Like the act of kneeling with my bared breasts pushed out hard for him or with my cheek pressed to the lightly grained wood floor and my ass offered up, with the strain of the postures burning through my shoulders and back almost as hot as the need in my sex. And the almost clinical confirmation that I remembered my safeword and the proper way to address my Dom.

Or else I’d have imagined it was the sexual act itself that would have overwhelmed me. Would I have found myself unbearably embarrassed bound to a bed or tied bent over a table or even just thrown down on a couch or the floor so the Master of my body could use his property roughly, thoroughly? All while I was made to confess how good it felt to be spread open and taken so savagely, made to hold my arms above my head and my thighs wide without the excuse of restraint, made to climax mewing or sighing or screaming Nolan’s name. Always his name.

I’d have been wrong, of course. The moments that made me flush the most feverishly, that had me wincing at the excruciating intimacy and shame, were those last few that lingered over the act of picking myself up and untangling myself from Nolan Beal. It was a kind of erotic torture simply getting dressed to leave—while he watched. And Nolan always watched. The black-haired rake was watching this morning, with those darkest sapphire blue eyes gleaming more like onyx in the shadows, from what should have been a comfortable distance but felt too close by far.

Catchlight. That was the photographic term for the glimmer of a highlight, the reflection, in someone’s eyes in a portrait. I glimpsed that in Nolan’s eyes now, a natural play of light, and looked away. He was already heartthrob, heartbreak handsome without it. The gleam lent his hard-edged good looks a certain softness, a pensiveness. It suggested disarming vulnerability, close-held emotions at work somewhere deep under the surface. I wondered if he was doing that, looking like that, on purpose. He would have known just how to pose and tilt his head to catch the light, wouldn’t he? To stage the moment, all on command?

Between me where I sat on the side of his low platform bed and Nolan perched on his massive black antique desk hung a clear and fragile silence. Dim rays of light striped the space from here to there, as a winter dawn sifted over the city skyline and into the apartment above his studio. This distance and quiet gloom provided no buffer for the palpable weight of his scrutiny on my skin, and on my thoughts. I sat there rigid in my black lace bra and panties, hiding behind the long, untamable wave of brown curls and reaching out blindly for my blouse. It was somewhere on the floor beside the bed, the once pristine garment now a crumpled white swatch of cotton bereft of at least two buttons.

With clumsy fingers working at the first button I found, midway down, I slipped my feet into my shoes and stood unsteadily. Then I realized these weren’t my sensible loafers but the femme fatale stilettos the photographer provided for me to wear during our private photo shoots and when he took me to clubs and sometimes when I was wearing nothing else and he was holding my wrists crossed behind my back and grinding himself into me relentlessly.

I took a deep breath to clear that thought and to still the trembling in my tightening stomach. Where would my slacks have been? Beside the desk where Nolan had bent me over to spank me with his thick leather belt, or had that been the night before? Two nights back? They blurred. I’d been belted over that desk and on the vanity against one wall. I had crawled naked across the floor for him and knelt under his desk sucking his hard cock while he made business phone calls. I had even leaned exposed against the cold glass of one of those tall industrial windows lining the wall of his apartment while he explored my quavering pussy and even the anxious bud of my virgin anus with his long tanned fingers.

He hadn’t let me come, not once during all of that, because I had yet to sign the slave contract he had presented to me. We could play, he’d said, meaning he would work me into a